A little Under the Weather
by Aley Hock
Summary: At sixteen there were things I had figured out so far in life, one of the most important unless you're dying you suck it up, push through it, and then it's all mind over matter.
1. Just the Begining

At sixteen there were three things I had figured out so far in life. Number one: once a marine always a marine, this fascinating little tidbit was picked up after sixteen years of observing my father an ex- marine gone hunter. Number two: a good solider never makes waves, he simply follows orders and buckles down and bites his tongue, doesn't ask questions just goes with it. And third and finally unless you're dying you suck it up, push through it, and then it's all mind over matter.

Though I love to learn, theses three life rules are a lessons I'm not interested in learning. All I want is some small piece of what everyone else has. That best friend that has known you since you were born or that hook up, that you had the first time you got drunk, that all these years later is still in love with you. Or that ex-high school football star still stuck in the small town because he got his high school sweetheart pregnant. But instead I'm stuck with a trigger happy brother who totally buys in to all of dad's bull shit about how it's our duty to avenge my mother's death. Kill the SOB that pinned her to the celling tore her insiders out and burned her to death. While it's sad and the thing that killed my mother it still walking amongst us on earth or in Hell killing it won't bring my mother back.

So here I am beginning the same old song and dance; new town, new home (if you can call some grimy appartment home), new school, same reason and excuses. Two weeks in to the school semester my dad packed us up, and moved us to some ass end of nowhere town in the backwoods of Virginia, starting another school midway through the year. It sucks always being the new kid but being the new kid in the middle of the year after cliques have been established, alliances made, and labels handed down takes on a whole new level of sucking.

We've been here for three weeks now, dad and Dean have been working on a hunt a few towns over and surprisingly things were good between all of us. Sure I was pissed that dad made us move again just as I was getting settled in our last place but for once; dad wasn't totally up my ass which resulted in less nights ruined by a shouting match with him and less stress for Dean in the long run. So there was an upside to this shit-hole town.

So here we are on a Sunday night after an evening of training, eating pizza watching _Lethal Weapon,_ the first one, while dad and Dean drank their beers, all and all a relaxing night. And apparently a night I needed, I guess I began to drift off about twenty minutes into the movie, my hectic week catching up to me. Between school, training, homework, and research for the hunt, it wasn't surprising that I was exhausted. Next thing I know I'm being shaken awake by my father the credits rolling.

"Sam?" I don't want to open my eyes, I feel strange, but it's probably due to a lack of sleep. I shrug off his hand and pry open weary eyes. "Hit the sack. Kiddo, everything will still be here tomorrow." He sighed pushing me towards the room Dean and I share and collapse on my bed, Dean rolls in freshly showered towel drying his short sandy hair.

"What's happening Sammy?" he asks as he pulls an old faded black tee shirt over his head, when I don't respond he shoots me a concerned look, a look I know all too well. "You okay Sam?" I look at him with bleary eyes and shrug.

"Might have a cold coming on, nothing I can't sleep off." I mumble as I flop over so I'm laying down on my stomach and burry my head under my pillow. That "cold" has different plans however I awake with a start, my stomach twisting and turning sickeningly. I sat up in bed, letting my body decide whether or not I was going to throw up, the sour tasting spit filling my mouth, being the answer. I slid out of bed and quietly make my way past Dean's bed, thankful that I hadn't woke him up and slipped into the bathroom. And waited sure enough my jaw began to tingle, my throat got tight and I felt bile begin to creep up my throat. I swallow hard trying to hold off the inevitable, unfortunately to my dismay I could only hold off for so long, within minutes I was heaving into the toilet, surrendering my dinner from that night before, despite my best efforts. I heaved and gagged till I could only dry heave. Miserable and alone, I wish Dean were with me, he always makes it better. He knows just what to do, hell I feel so shitty I'd even settle for dad at this point. Which is proof in and of its self just how sick I am.

TBC Please review this is my first attempt so tell me what y'all think.


	2. Bad Night

Don't Own anything

After a few minutes of sitting on the cold bathroom floor I feel well enough to go back to bed, I am exhausted from getting sick and all I wanna do now is sleep. Sleep till I feel better… or I die whichever comes first. I stand up brush my teeth then shuffle back to the room. Ugh, my head hurts, everything hurts I feel like I got hit by a truck. Dean is sprawled across his bed, his breathing deep and slow he was out. Normally he wakes up if I stay still for too long so the fact that he didn't even stir when I left the room is a testament to how tired he must be. I glance at the clock on my end table three am; dad would be up in a couple hours, if I can hold out till then dad could take me into town pick up some cold and flu meds try and tackle this beast before it got too bad. But damn I feel sick. "Dean?" I croak and I hear Dean shift but there was no response so I try again, "Dean?"

I hear him roll over and sigh, "What Sam?" he mumbled his voice stifled by the sheets.

"I don't feel good." I moan leaning against the door frame, wrapping an arm around my stomach which was making itself known again.

Dean groaned before pushing himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Seriously dude, its three am you couldn't wait a few more hours," he groused, standing up and stumbling over to me. He gently lays his hand on my forehead before frowning. "Sam you're burning up. How long have you felt sick?"

"I don't know, I felt off before I went to bed, but it wasn't anything like this." My stomach cramped and I gasp, "I'm gonna puke," before scrambling to the bathroom I hear Dean's heavy foot steps behind me. I double over the toilet and start spewing. Definitely not one of my finer moments, Dean eases me down so that I'm now kneeling while paying homage to the porcelain god, I'm in between bouts when I hear dad's quiet rumble, gravely with sleep.

"He okay?" he asks.

I cough harshly before forcing out, "I'm fine dinner," I gag and cough again, "dinner just didn't agree with me." from my position in front of the bowl.

Dean scoffs, "Bullshit, he's burning up, dad." I begin to tell him to go screw himself when a rush of vomit came up without any warning. Unfortunately I was leaning away from the commode and proceeded to throw up all over myself. "Damnit Sam," cursed Dean as he quickly guides me back to hover over the toilet.

I can feel dad's presence behind me, his rough hand rubbing my back as it arches with each heave. "Okay, you're fine. You're gonna be okay." Dad murmurs squeezing the back of my neck as my breathing slows and my stomach begins to settle. I don't know what I was thinking earlier the instant dad comes in the small cramped bathroom I'm on edge.

I take a deep breath as Dean flushes the toilet, "Ya done?" I sigh before conceding that for the moment I wasn't going to vomit again. "Alright let's get cleaned up." He suggests grabbing me under the arms and heaving me up.

"Oh not so fast." I groan as I grab Dean's arm to steady myself as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

"Steady." Dean mutters as he reaches out to balance my wavering form, "Dad can you get the first aid kit from the kitchen?" Dean asks as he turns on the shower, still acting as a brace so I wouldn't fall flat on my face. As soon as dad leaves I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Dad and I, we just don't mesh well.

I give Dean a small smile, "Thanks," I sigh as I look down at my ruined shirt. Dean follows my gaze and squeezes my shoulder, "Don't even worry about it, let's just get you well. We'll deal with the rest later." His voice calm and reassuring, I could feel a blush creep across my face and I duck my head.

Dad appears in the doorway kit in hand, "I'm gonna head into town try and pick up some supplies, do you have this?" he asks Dean, to which Dean doesn't even reply, dad shuffles out in that way he has, leaving dean to do his thing, what Dean's best at, Being the parent when dad can't.

TBC


	3. Family Bonding

Still Don't Own anything, blast, my kingdom for some sexy Winchester boys.

I'm sitting on the toilet with my head in my hands,___thermometer_ poking out of my mouth, fighting the building nausea, as Dean leaned against the closed door, eyes closed, if I didn't know any better I would say he fell asleep standing up. I swallow jaw tingling, "Dean," I force out.

"Hmm?" Dean murmurs looking up bleary eyes trying to focus. "Are you gonna throw up again?" I groan because honestly I don't know. "Try and hold on a couple more minutes, we almost got a read on your temp." I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow again. "Almost done," he soothes when I begin to get restless. Finally after what seems like hours Dean plucks the thermometer from my mouth. After giving me a once over, while I take deep breaths slowly calming my stomach, he clicks his tongue, "102.4, bud, sure don't do anything half assed do ya?" he chuckles before mussing my hair.

"Dean," I whine, "Really? Don't you're going to mess up my hair."

Dean smirks, "Bitch about it some more, princess, it's not like you don't have a serious case of bed head anyway." He jokes.

"I do not." I grouse trying to flatten the back of my hair that's standing straight up.

Dean smiled and nudged my leg, "Let's go you're wasting time, you're gonna be puking again in a couple hours, get cleaned up dad will probably be back by the time you're done." He stands to give me some privacy, "If you need anything just yell," Dean instructs before he closes the door behind himself, leaving me with a steam filled room, a sick stomach, and vomit stained clothes. I slip out of my dirty shirt and toss it in a heap on the floor where the rest of my clothes joined them. I stand under the warm spray of the shower washing away the last of my puke and sweat. Once I feel sufficiently clean, I turn off the water, and step out of the shower. A chill sets in as I begin to dry off, the sign of a shifting fever. Dean left a clean pair of boxers and a pair of sweats on the sink, both of which I pull on quickly desperate to get warm. When I open the door I can hear dad and Dean downstairs banging around I could smell coffee brewing. The scent making me even more queasy, as I tromp down stairs. Dad and Dean sit the table mugs in hand looking disheveled.

"Hey kiddo how ya feeling?" asks dad rocking back in his chair as he runs a hand over his beard.

"Been better." I mutter flopping down in the empty seat across from Dean, before resting my head on the table. A chair creeks, signaling someone getting up and I feel the coolness of a glass on my arm, I lift my head off the table and look up Dean's measuring out a dose of liquid Tylenol and dad's sitting back down in his seat, "_Gatorade_ gotta keep ya hydrated, if we don't get that fever down we're gonna wind up in the ER, but that's a last resort." Dad explains taking a swig of coffee.

"And something to keep you from roasting alive," Dean hands me a cap full of the medicine.

I take it from his hand and give a weak smile "Bottoms up, huh?" and I drain the little cup. Scrunching my eyes closed I reach out to for the _Gatorade_ to chase away the awful aftertaste all medicines seem to have. Take a few cautious sips and set the glass back down. "I'm tired." I mumble standing up and shuffling for the stairs.

"Sam, you need to drink all of it." Dad reprimands absently, motioning for me to come back over to the table.

"I don't want to dad, I wanna go back to bed." I throw over my shoulder, stopping at the foot of the steps. It was such a long way up.

"I know son, but we need to replace some of those fluids you lost." He stands and hands me the glass, "Small sips," he instructs, I snatch the glass from his hand. And begin cautiously sipping.

"Dad, I can't drink anymore." I whisper, placing a hand on my churning stomach, dropping the half empty glass by my side. Dad sighs and shakes his head clearly not pleased but he'll take what he can get, he takes the glass back and takes it to the sink.

"Alright, let's go little brother, you look like you're about to fall over," Dean sighs coming up behind me and pushing me till we get to our room. "Go to bed Sam." Dean orders.

"Are you going back to bed?" I ask him as I climb under the blankets.

He scoffs and shakes his head "You kidding dad already has books stacked a mile high for me to start looking through, trying to get a lead on this hunt."

My eyes are already getting heavy, "What do you think it is?" I slur not ready to give in to the pull of sleep. Dean begins to ramble on and on about how 'it could be this it could be that, dad thinks this so it could also be that'. Before I knew it Deans voice becomes softer and softer till I was drifting off not able to keep my eyes open any longer.

TBC should I keep going or just let it rest.


	4. A Good Day

When I wake up the sun is shining through the window above my bed, I roll over and look at the clock on my bed side table, 7 am, I slept for almost three hours. Despite the fact that I had those three hours I feel even worse now than I did before I went to sleep. I'm so hot, I feel like I'm on fire. And I need to throw up again. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stand; I sway a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I close my eyes waiting to find equilibrium. My head pounds in rhythm with my heart beat, and I let out a moan. I slowly sink back down on the mattress. Once the room stops spinning I stumble down the hall to the bathroom and purge what little I had left in my stomach. Unfortunately it doesn't stop there I wretch and dry heave only bringing up spit and stomach acid.

I hear someone stomping upstairs and Dean appears in the doorway, sweaty and red faced clearly he just got back from his morning run, "Ah, Sammy," he sighs, looking down at me kneeling in front of the toilet. I feel tears begin to well in my eyes as he crouches down next to me placing a hand on my back, I turn away I'm so embarrassed. The moment his hand touches my bare skin his brow furrows. "Fevers gone up." He informs me reaching for the kit that's still on the counter and pulling out the thermometer. "You gonna be okay for a few minutes or-" before he can finish my stomach lurches and I'm back to spitting milky bile into the bowl. "Never mind." He mumbles, because he clearly has the answer. This bout is really bad I don't even have more than a beat to catch my breath.

"Dean," I swallow, "I feel awful-" I gag, and Dean hovers ready to comfort if I have another episode, but I keep things down. And eventually I go back to bed and fall back to sleep.

When I wake up dad's sitting on Dean's bed books scattered around him and Dean is just pacing back and forth with all this nervous energy from not leaving my side, he's making me nauseous. "Dean please stop." I plead, after watching him go back and forth for a few minutes, trying to keep my stomach in check.

Dad shoots me a look before turning to Dean, "Son why don't you go grab us some coffee and maybe another _Gatorade_ for Sam." he suggests to Dean who's stilled under dad's stare. Maybe Dean's trying to figure out if this is an order or not, after waiting dad out Dean nods and heads to the Kitchen. Dad shifts his position on the bed; I imagine he's stiff from sitting on that hard mattress, but my thoughts are only on dad's stiff joints for a minute before the need to puke hits hard and fast. I still and try not to lose what little I have left in my stomach. "Dad, I need to go to the bathroom," I gasp careful to keep my sentences shot. "I'm gonna throw up," I moan "I don't think I can," I swallow thickly, "make it to the bathroom." I gag and dad shoots up looking for something for me to throw up in. All I can think about is please don't let me vomit on dad, but to my dismay that's what happens, I gag again this time bringing up a little bile, that dribbles down on my shirt. I cough and then the worst thing possible happens just as dad brings me a bucket my stomach gives a mighty heave, not only do I soak myself with vomit, but I puke on dad.

"Son of a bitch." Dad mutters looking down at his vomit stained clothes, and I whimper weather from being sick or from being embarrassed I'm not sure. "It's okay Sam." he murmurs handing me the bucket. "Well let's go get you cleaned up again." I nod as Dad reaches over and feels my fore head and grins "Yea your fever's down I think you'll be feeling better real soon." he assures helping me to the bathroom and even though I'm still queasy and in desperate need of a shower, for once dad and I are bonding over something not related to a hunt. And to tell you the truth it's actually really nice. A memory I hope I can keep for years down the road.

The end.


End file.
